I
fly to London tomorrow. I’ve been away from the city of my birth for 14 months.
I suspect it has changed. It’s curious seeing the old place on the news sites.
I lived near Westminster Bridge, and later near Borough Market. I often drank
in the pub outside which one of the worst slaughters took place. I was born
close to Finsbury Park, scene of Sunday’s murder. Someone tried to kill a
policeman at Paddington Station yesterday. I used to moor around the corner
when I had a narrow boat on the canal. There was a stabbing at Oval station.
I’ve been to the Oval to watch test cricket. I know London.

Except
I don’t.

I
always had a love/hate relationship with the smoke, as we used to call it.
Going up the smoke. It was never sin city, but it had a taste of naughtiness
about it. I was born in Stoke Newington, but my family moved out to the suburbs
when I was a small boy. When I left college in 1979 and got a job, I could
afford to go up the smoke. See The Clash. See The UK Subs. Later, see Joy
Division and Adam and the Antz, when they were good, before all the Prince Charming nonsense.

I
used to look forward to visiting the city of my birth. I’m not looking forward
to it this time. I won’t bore you with my anarcho-tyranny theories. If you have
been here before, you already know what they are. The deliberate importation of
a belligerent Muslim population is going through the form with epic dispatch.
Expect more tit-for-tat attacks this summer.

The
simmering pot is coming to the boil, I think. I wonder if it is a tiger the UK
government can ride. Bear in mind that this is a weak government, led by a
woman feeble even by the standards of the political class. I think Britain’s
deep state – which I believe exists – has ear-marked Corbyn as the heir
apparent. And, of course, that means Abbott will be the most powerful woman in
the country. This is not going to get any better any time soon. I also think
that is a good thing, for reasons mentioned in a previous episode..

Civil
conflict will be interesting, if that doesn’t seem a heartless thing to write.
Muslims versus infidels in the streets will force the police to show their hand
and, reading the cards over their shoulder, it seems obvious with whom they
will side. I have a firm belief that Islam has been introduced into the Western
European way of life to subvert it, warp it, and perhaps ultimately destroy it.
It may sound extreme, but I believe that governments, wishing for a docile
populace, are worried by the thought of an educated populace, and IT has given the
great unscrubbed all the elements of higher learning without the inconvenience
of attending academic centres that now pass for institutes of higher learning,
but are in fact indoctrination stations intended to create cultural robotic
Marxists who owe the state money. Islam, of course, is not known for its Nobel
Prize podium appearances. That would be Jewry.

If
ordinary folk were to turn off the TV in the middle of Sherlock, put down the X-Box controller, give IKEA a miss just for
a weekend, buy what they needed from the supermarket rather than the crap
advertised to them and for which their impertinent and unruly children whine,
ignore football, ditch the newspapers with their lies and celebrities, and
start educating themselves, well. You know what would happen.

Education,
I mean self-education, is the best way you can spend your time. You should be
reading a book a week. A real book, not 50
Shades of Harry Potter. Watch movies, ones that were either made before
about 1980, or that didn’t originate in Hollywood. Look beyond Katy Perry for
musical sustenance.

Don’t
waste your life watching television. Think more. I don’t mean meditation or new
age astral bollocks or Neuro Linguistic Programming or reading a fucking Bill
Bryson book. I mean read. And get
your kids to read, if you have them. They will be being indoctrinated at school,
and it is your responsibility to correct that.

In
the meantime, as the UK goes inelegantly to hell, you might find yourself
better prepared if you hone your mental skills, sharpen a habit of thinking
dulled by an edge blunted by what passes for culture. If there is a collapse,
you may have to think on your feet to protect you and your family. Never forget
that the most advanced countries are still only a few days from anarchy if the
food and the money run out.

In
the meantime, we can all enjoy the unedifying spectacle of radical Islam
twitching the marionette-strings of its useful idiots on the Left. Now that
they have the white ‘terrorist’ for whom they have been praying – a man who
will almost certainly be murdered in prison pour
encourager les autres – they have switched tactics, and starting using the tabloid
phrase ‘hate preachers’ to describe Tommy Robinson, Nigel Farage, Katie Hopkins
and even the mild-mannered and erudite Douglas Murray. It would be funny if it
weren’t so serious.

And
there is in the UK, I gather, a heatwave. All I’m looking forward to is seeing
family and friends, going to the Kent coast, cruising the music shops in
Denmark Street, fish and chips and some pale ale. Maybe a couple of essential
paperbacks from charity shops. England doesn’t have anything else to offer me
anymore. Soon I will be leaving for good.

What
went wrong? Is it as simple as Orwell’s famous claim that England was a family with
the wrong members in control? If it is, those patriarchs are becoming
matriarchs, feminised men or actual women, if they still exist. It’s not the
old Establishment that bother us any more, George, it’s the new breed. And, old
son, they are Socialists.Although I
suspect Orwell would be appalled by what the Left have become.

So
I am not looking forward to my return home, largely because I couldn’t, in all
conscience, call it my home.

Thursday, 15 June 2017

The
Grenfell Tower fire in London will be down to poor property management, and
that is one thing in which the UK’s capital city is not in short supply. I was
variously a porter, caretaker and building manager, and have the proud record of
being fired twice for disagreeing with incompetent management. But that is not
the point.

When
I first started working for an agency in the summer of 2008, I quickly mastered
the art of overseeing buildings, and one aspect of the job interested me very
much. Within six weeks of my first posting, and with no background check other
than a photocopy taken of my passport – and I know a Serbian illegal immigrant
in London who has three passports, all false – I was given a job looking after
200 apartments for two weeks. The apartments comprised an entire avenue in
Maida Vale, a swanky part of west London. And so, suddenly one Monday morning,
there I was with access to all of them via keys held in the office cabinet. No
one really knew, to a certainty, who I was.

Now,
let’s suppose that my real name is Hassan Jihad, and I am a soldier of Allah.
For the first week of my fortnight’s stint, I scope the place out, and
generally ingratiate myself with the residents, becoming known and trusted. I
get to know who lives where, how capable they are, when they come and go. Then,
probably on a Saturday afternoon when a lot of the police are taken up with
football, myself and my three accomplices – who have been briefed via personal
meetings in pubs, where devout Muslims famously don’t go – and without
telephonic contact or any email stupidity, we get busy.

With
the keys to the flats that I have identified, my fellow troops begin entering
apartments I know to be occupied. No guns, just knives and machetes. The
slaughter begins. I don’t join them, as I am duct-taped to the chair my
comrades have strapped me to. There are missing keys in the cabinet, clues to where
my accomplices are carrying out their butchery for when the police arrive. But
they are not the right clues.

Now,
although my order of assassins are using non-ballistic weapons, the balloon is
bound to go up at some stage and, as you would expect, the excited whoop of
police sirens is finally heard. Someone – actually, quite a lot of terrified
residents – will be on the pavement as the police arrive. As the armed officers
begin to assess the situation – blood can clearly be seen spattered against one
window of a third-floor apartment – at least one officer will ask the calmest
person he can find if anyone is in charge of the building. That would be me.

Officers
with guns boot down the office door and see me taped to the chair, duct tape
across my mouth to further delay things. They don’t rip it off. They are gentle
and kind, under the circumstances. They remove it slowly.

Then
I go into my act. I actually asked an actor guy I met in a pub how they fake
other moods, states, and emotions. It was a casual chat, but he taught me much.
I gasp and choke, wild-eyed. The police have been trained for this. Don’t
traumatise a victim. If you do, the target information you want from them moves
farther away. And, boy, do they want target information.

One
of the officers has cut me loose from the chair so that I can move my arms. The
first thing I do is point straight at the key cabinet, with its eight empty
hooks. The door is flapping from its hinges, broken because I myself broke it. I
gasp;

“That’s
where they are!”

The
good cop asks;

“Did
you see how many?”

“Two.
They have knives. Big knives! Be careful!”

One
stays with me. The other takes down the numbers of the eight missing keys and
bounds off to tell his co-workers. There’s only one problem. They are not the
right numbers.

Before
my friends tied me to the chair, and gave me a couple of decent punches to draw
blood and bruises, I gave them sets of keys to eight apartments. Then I moved
the keys from eight different apartments onto the vacated hooks. But they
weren’t just any apartments.

I
was very busy during my first week in my new job, as one ought to be. One of my
tasks was to find out which apartments would be empty on Jihad Day, as we
called it. Medium and long-term, I mean, and during my brief reign. The people
on holiday, the properties that were for sale or rent. And these would be the
ones with the bombs inside, easily detonated by percussion caps primed to be
struck by a kicked-in door. I laid the devices at my leisure.

Of
course, when the carnage is over, my fellow jihadis are all dead, and the
police discover my ruse, I will go to prison for a long time. However, just as
my friends are martyrs in heaven, so too I will be a martyr here on earth.
Also, I will be a hero, a king, a caliph in prison, most of which are now run
by Muslims. Salaam. Our kill rate
numbered 37, including dead police officers.

Now,
I won’t go on. If I can come up with this scenario on a rainy afternoon, I am
sure the jihadi masterminds the police and government in the UK assure us exist
can too. But, first, a commercial break.

I
am almost certain, for a particular reason, that there is a police officer
reading this. If so, a caveat. Look
it up. I am not advocating terrorism, nor am I threatening it. What I am doing
is suggesting is that, instead of reading this, and poring over Tweets by Tommy
Robinson, Paul Joseph Watson and Katie Hopkins, you might want to tell Sarge to
organise a detail to contact every recruitment agency in every big city which
deals in property management, and security audit their level of background
checking. That way, before unchecked people have access to the keys to
strangers’ apartments, you might be able to find out who those unchecked people
are.

Grenfell
Tower was appalling. If the story about the blogger who was warned off by
council officials for writing about the risks at the building is true, people
ought to be going to jail. If you can imprison someone – who then mysteriously
dies in jail – for putting bacon on a mosque door-handle, you can imprison
someone for threatening accurate whistleblowers.

But
none of this will be done. It’s too much like hard work, not something the
public sector is esteemed for. Grenfell Tower was likely not terrorism, but
ISIS will be watching with interest. A Parisian restaurant was recently
attacked by a man with a Molotov cocktail. The Parisian police claim it was a
robbery gone wrong. What, you turn a restaurant into a blazing inferno, then you go in and nick the till, is
that right? Fuck off.

Terrorism
– and that may soon include non-Muslim terrorism – is evolving, mutating. How
soon before there are security guards outside restaurants in London,
particularly the ones where the elites eat, the politicos and their journo
courtiers, the celebrities? Molotov cocktails are cheap and easy to produce,
with maximal effect. Drive up, light a few of them, smash the windows, lob ‘em
in. The perfect business model.

Terrorists
just need the right ideas. Grenfell Tower may be one of them.

Wednesday, 14 June 2017

Hate
speech is the new racism. The Left, like every dedicated follower of fashion,
tires of the latest outfits and looks ever to the coming season for something
new and exciting to wear. Perhaps they became weary of racism because it didn’t
allow the fascists and Nazis to be held accountable enough.
Racists don’t necessarily hate all women, for example, just black women. Not
good enough. Racists may be indifferent about homosexuals, and even point out
that Islam has something of a problem with them. That won’t do. Racists may
think transgender people are actually quite brave and admirable. No, no, no.
Gotta catch ‘em all.

Hatred
is a perfectly understandable human emotion. I have no background in
anthropology or evolutionary theory, but I imagine it is some sort of vestigial
animal defence mechanism designed, or evolved, to rile a creature the better to
defend its young or its own kind. Now, of course, it is not triggered to defend
the hater from attack, but it lingers on, like the coccyx or appendix. I have
hated people. I hate people still. I have hated far more people than I have
ever loved. But that’s me.

Social
media, itself rapidly evolving into anti-social media, has provided many
things, not least the ideal platform for hatred. It has the added advantage of
offering the one who hates a medium through which they can express their hate
without fear of physical reprisal. That is gradually being rectified by the
authorities, the provisional wing of the political class. People are beginning
to go to prison now for online ‘hate crime’, across Europe, at least the
Western part of Europe. But what is hatred, and are these political prisoners
really guilty of it, if it is to be a crime in this brave new world?

We
all know, really, we haters. What is hate? I’m not going to bother with the
dictionary. That’s like trying to mend your Ferrari using the manual for an
Amish horse buggy. Does the hater wish the target of their hatred dead? No, at
least never in my experience. I want them just the way they are. They help me
to focus on what I believe. Of course, there are certain parts of my own
make-up and behavior patterns that I hate. But they serve the same purpose. You
define yourself by what you wish not to be, by what you hate.

And
I know what I wish not to be. I wish not to be a person who will say and do
things to gain the approval of others. This used not to be the case. I was, for
a long time, desperate to gain what I believe psychologists call
‘reinforcement’, that is, the approval of others. Having attempted a sort of
am-dram version of Freud’s Attempt at a
Self-Analysis, it’s my belief that I feel myself responsible for the
break-up of my parents’ marriage. This is not uncommon for the eldest boy in a broken
family.

So
it is that I come to hate. I have come to hate Liberals, Progressives, the
post-modernist know-nothings, the relativist, multicultural, oikophobic,
self-mutilating, bleeding-heart, mea culpist intellectual pygmies who now run
the West. I hate the Gramsciite Orcs, the students with a hard-on for blacks,
the local councils who favour Muslims because they themselves despise their
indigenous citizens. I hate the political class, as close to software as you
can get and still have a pulse that is not actually digital. I hate the media,
the journalists who think that what they do is difficult and challenging when
it is just pleasing Mummy while hating Daddy.

I
hate the lack of authenticity displayed in the modern world, the hiding behind
orthodoxy, the mask of goodness. Nietzsche; larvatus
prodeo. I advance wearing my mask. Because it’s all a masquerade ball whose
guests are intellectual spastics, mental cripples who would rather be up to
date on the latest hip TV show than read anything that genuinely challenged
their preconceptions. I hate the biens
pensants, the Gütmenschen, the
new Puritans. I hate them not, or not simply, because they are not me, but I
love that I am not them. A paradox? Not at all.

I
hate the certainty of these tribes of
the good. I hate their odour of sanctity, the way they look at one another in
mutual admiration like cultists. I have spent a lot of time with Left-wingers,
supremely confident as they are, and I have spent a lot of time with
Scientologists – although I never was one. This was work – and to be
scrupulously honest, I preferred the company of the Scinos.

I
hate the organisation that allows
these cockroaches to thrive, the way that society is being subtly arranged so
that dissent becomes more and more dangerous, the way that the police take the
candy bar because they are too scared not to, the way that schools become dark,
Satanic mills churning out creepy Midwich Cuckoos who chirrup multicultural
platitudes on command, the way television dominates with its dull, vapid,
grinding litany of nothing at all. I hate the death of freedom and I hate the
birth of a new and dreadful servitude. More than anything, I hate the fact that
the new masters want to live in a
world like that, a world where the puzzle pieces grow fewer, the puzzle
simpler, the picture less a representation of anything real than just a blank,
drab colour field in the worst shade of the worst colour that ever was.

I
hate that you must be quiet now, unless the things you have to say have been
approved by the commissar. I hate the fact that bored and boring people have
been convinced they are interested and are interesting. I hate the cult of the
body to the detriment of the mind. I hate the fact that the West of the 21st
century could have been a new Elysium, a thousand Renaissances exploding like
glorious fireworks, a place of wonder and of joy, a heaven in hell’s despair.

And
I hate the people who put us there. The technocrats, the master engineers, the
helmsmen, the puppeteers, the dance masters who don’t know how to dance. Hate
speech? Amateur night at the Apollo. With me it’s a full-time job.

But
you have to be alive to hate and, to reprise the most chilling line in Orwell’s
1984, we are the dead.

A
professional counsellor once told me that there no facts, and added that that
had been proven. You will note that the claim is what logicians call a reductio ad absurdum, that is, it
collapses into absurdity. What this wizened little Leftist – which is what she
certainly was - was saying was that it is a fact that there no facts. When it
comes to the wilful distortion of facts and the political Left, nobody does it
better.

There
has been a lot of online chatter about the redundancy of the old political
appellations of ‘Left’ and ‘Right’. Their replacement with ‘Globalist’ and ‘Nationalist’
has been mooted. I believe Marine Le Pen is the only politician to make the
point explicitly and use precisely those terms, but it is clearly an emerging
concept, a meme in the proper sense of that word, rather than a cartoon frog.
It’s clear what nationalism is. What, though, is globalism?

Wittgenstein
famously began his Tractatus
Logico-Philosophicus with the following sentence;

The world is all that is the case.

Is
that what the Globalists are talking about, what is the case? If ‘Globalism’ is
the new step in the evolution of Leftism, what is the case becomes very
problematic, because the Left are at pains to use facts to suit their agenda,
and to rely on sheer invention if it serves a purpose. Lies, in short, become
the truth if they advance the cause. Lenin and Mao, Trotsky and Goebbels, all
these shades gather round.

There
are the simple lies, of course. The BBC, for example, reported that there were ‘a
few hundred’ marchers at yesterday’s Unite Against Hate march in Manchester.
There were not. There were between three and four thousand, as the many
available videos make clear. Why lie about something so easily provable? The
simple answer is that for many, television is reality. Leftists – I will use
the old, familiar terms until we can clarify the etymological arrivistes – wish to believe that the
march was attended by a few racist misfits, the BBC assured them that it was,
and a lie becomes fact. These people are unlikely to read the sites I read and
to see the veridical images they show.

Then
there is the election. The Conservatives won it, say the Right. No Labour won
it, say the Left. The archaic notion that an appeal to the figures could and
should be made dissolves, is erased under the dry cloth of post-modernist
relativism.

When
it comes to Islam, we are almost a peak denial of the truth. Take the famous
and now rather nauseating claim that terrorist atrocity after terrorist
atrocity has ‘nothing to do with Islam’, despite all evidence to the contrary. A
point that the great essayist Theodore Dalrymple makes – I forget where – is that
the lies told by the Communist regimes that so disfigured the 20th
century were not even intended to deceive, they were designed solely to humiliate.
We will tell you what you and we know to be untrue, and you will affirm it. You
risk professional and social disgrace if you do not.

Curiously
– although an important element of a forming alliance - the Left’s elision of
easily provable facts has much in common with Islamic taqiyya. This mainly Shia practice is uncomplicated. It allows
deceit of the infidel in the cause of Islam, and its origin in the Koran can be found in suras 3:28 and 16:106. In a sense, any
of us who knowingly lied as children in order to save ourselves from punishment
or disapproval knows what it is to indulge in taqiyya.

And,
of course, taqiyya is also the Muslim
concomitant of a practice not unknown to Western politicians. One of the first
jokes I recall my late father telling me was the old one about knowing when a
politician was lying because his lips were moving. But what will happen when
the lies are shown for what they are?

This,
of course, is what the political class is fighting hard to prevent. They see
their lies as an updated version of Plato’s ‘noble myth’ from the Republic, the necessary untruths which
keep the populace happy and healthy, if ignorant. Mankind, as Eliot writes in Murder
in the Cathedral, cannot bear too
much reality. It is the driving force behind their grim determination to
police and curate the internet. There is just too much truth lurking out there.

Now,
truth is no simple affair. It has different categories. That 2 + 2 is equal to
4 was true in the time of Christ and in the time of Mohammed, just as it is
true now. It is true in Berlin, Djibouti and Croydon. Descartes believed that
proof of existence could be predicated on mathematics and Spinoza, in the Ethics, believed that ethical truths
could be shown to be in conformity with logical truth. There is an amusing echo
of this when you hear Leftists say that the Right are being ‘illogical’ when
they disagree with them although, to be fair, this childish slinging of
gormless excrement works both ways.

But
mathematical and logical truth does not fit the real world, otherwise Zeno’s
paradoxes could not exist, or at least would not be paradoxical. The truth
among men, I believe, tends to be found when one group of those men has
vanquished the other.

And
belief is what it all comes back to. I believe the world should be this way, you
believe it should be that way. We fight. One of us wins. And the winner’s
beliefs become true.

We
are being lied to, to use a modern phrase, on an industrial scale. By
politicians, by the media, by our workmates, by the police, by management, by
our children’s teachers. One day the conflict will have to come, and then we
will see where the truth lies once the dust has settled.

Sunday, 11 June 2017

A
few weeks ago, after the Westminster terrorist attack in which a Muslim killed
five people, including a policeman who was unarmed due to MPs’ concerns about
guns spoiling tourist photos, a journalist made the strangest comment.

George
Eaton is the political editor of The New
Statesman, a Left-wing magazine, and he took to Twitter to announce the
following;

I
read it and read it again. I knew that
it nauseated me, but I couldn’t quite understand exactly why, and I am ruthless
when it comes to tracking and identifying my motives and beliefs and the
reasons for those beliefs, the springs and cogs and levers of the unconscious
mind. This is not always a good thing, incidentally, for reasons which hark
back to Socrates’ visit to the oracle at Delphi, and are a subject for another
day.

I
imagined the relatives of the dead and maimed reading the Tweet, and their
tears suddenly drying as they bravely smiled at the news that people from lots
of different countries had been killed or injured. What was Eaton trying to
say? London is a diverse city,
ethnically and culturally speaking. Using an Islamic attack to make that point
seemed unnecessary.

Katie
Forster, a journalist for the far-Left newspaper The Independent, soon followed suit. To be fair to her, sub-editors
tend to write headlines, but her copy about the attacks ran under the following
banner;

Londoners,
it goes without saying, did no such thing. But for creatures such as Forster, a
couple of Tweets from people who think Owen Jones is the voice of reason
represents an entire city. Forster at least includes, in her rainbow inventory
of those killed or crippled by Muslims, the 12 Britons hospitalised by Muslim
Khalid Masood, which Eaton did not think noteworthy. But the rest of her
article is an attack on a supposed ‘far-Right’ response to the atrocity. As is
often the case, this reduced to quoting Nigel Farage, mentioning Katie Hopkins,
and writing the following;

However, some far-right commentators cited London’s
cultural diversity as a reason for the attack.

Paul Joseph Watson, a writer for right-wing website
Infowars, said: “London is probably the most ‘diverse’ city in the world and
look what happened. Is diversity still our strength?” in a tweet.

It is poor journalism,
and The Independent is in serious
financial trouble, but the trend is unmistakably present. The fact that dead
people killed by an Islamic terrorist come from different countries is,
apparently, a good thing. It would have been bad if they had all been white and
British. Except, for the likes of Forster and Eaton, they would have been
thrilled, especially if all the dead were straight white men.

So, piss-poor
journalism. But, in circulation terms – ABC figures as they are called in Britain
- only a handful of people read The
Independent and New Statesman, which
I believe Private Eye refers to as
the Staggers. It’s not as though some
high-profile public servant had said the same thing, the head of the
Metropolitan police, say. Oh. Wait.

Cressida Dick is the
head of the Met. I would imagine that being a lesbian woman had nothing to do
with her appointment, and she beat off, so to speak, many alpha males to get
the job purely on merit, and the desire to arrest criminals of whatever ethnic
background. She has this to say about London’s latest date with Islamic
carnage;

It’s
desperately sad and poignant but among those who died is someone who’s British,
there are French, Australian, Canadian, Spanish. In terms of our witnesses that
we’ve spoken to so far, out of the 300-odd people, there are about 20 different
countries of origin. And the London British population comes from all kinds of
backgrounds and every kind of faith and ethnicity.

Where are we with all this? Who the fucking hell are these people? The emphasis
this supposed public servant makes is not on the fact that Muslims directly
inspired by their holy book – which the BBC even refers to as the ‘holy Koran’ - slaughter people out having a
good time. The emphasis is not on the Muslims who were filmed in a subway
dancing and celebrating the pig-roast at London Bridge. The emphasis is not on
the fact that 400 jihadis – by the admission of the Muslim London mayor – are at
large in the metropolis, and are untraceable. No, the emphasis is that the dead
people, if you photographed them together in the morgue, would be a gruesome
re-enactment of the United Colours of Benetton ads from the 1980s. Well, guys,
you’re dead, but you’re diverse!

Well, I have news. London is about to
stop being so diverse, because people from other countries are going to stop
going there. Islam will destroy tourism and relocation. Oh, Muslims will still go there, of course,
because there will be no Brexit and no end to Schengen. Don’t believe there
will be. I’m talking about people from civilised countries.

When I was living in London, I liked the
French quarter, I regularly ate in Chinatown, I liked the Serbian church my
bandmates took me to, I drank in Golders Green and I drank a fuck of a lot in
Earl’s Court, or little Oz as it was known. My granddad lived in
Polish-dominated Ealing his whole life. But I avoided the black areas and I
avoided the Muslim areas, because they were violent, racist shitholes.

Diversity is not some great good in and
of itself. Islam does not make a city better, it makes it worse. If I were a
Tower Hamlets jihadi, I would be laughing my arse off at the idea that the victims
were ‘diverse’. Not to them they aren’t. A kufr
is a kufr, bruv. Don’t matter
which infidel part of the dar al harb they
come from, innit.

Diversity is not strength, neither is it
weakness. But allow Muslims to dominate parts of your city, and you will find
out what a single culture and uniform values are all about.

Saturday, 10 June 2017

You need people like me. You
need people like me so you can point your fucking fingers and say, that’s the
bad guy. So. What does that make you? Good? You’re not good. You just know how
to hide. And lie. Me, I don’t have that problem. Me, I always tell the truth.
Even when I lie. So say goodnight to the bad guy. Come on. Last time you’re
gonna see a bad guy like this again, let me tell you.

Scarface

Who makes the Nazis?

We do! We do! We make the
Nazis.

The Fall

The
Nazis. Woah. In terms of the evil world championships, they won, and they won
big. They are the Real Madrid of realpolitik,
the epitome of evil in an evil world, the overall champeens of 20th-century
slaughter and mayhem. Now, of course, their name has been given over to everyone
with whom the Liberal-Left disagree. You don’t have to gas gypsies to be a Nazi
nowadays, no ma’am. You can just say that perhaps there is a bit too much
immigration, or that Islam is just a tad hostile to gays and women, or
transgender toilets may not be such a great idea. Congratulations, and welcome
to the Wehrmacht because you, sir or
madam or whatever you self-identify as, are a fully fledged Nazi. Come in. Sit
down. Pull up a Jew.

Nazis
are everywhere. You work with them. You sit opposite them on the way to work.
They are all over the internet like a cheap suit. They don’t wear leather coats
any more, but boy they are around. Punch them. Tell their employers they are
Nazis. Punch a Nazi. Feels good, doesn’t it? Richard Spencer, yeah, the Nazi, that guy. He got punched. One guy
on the ‘net said he watched a loop of Spencer being punched in the face over and over and fucking over again. Yeah,
punching Nazis is good. Even the north American MSM joined in.

It
was good, of course, until it wasn’t. At a demonstration at Berkeley – both the
midwife and undertaker to free speech in north American universities – a girl
known as ‘Moldylocks’, in a charming and refined reference to her career as a
porn star who makes a feature of her hairy vagina, was looking forward to the
demonstration very much. She claimed online to be looking forward to taking ‘100
Nazi scalps’. It was going well, with the police backing off Leftist agitators
as always. Then she got punched in the face.

My,
how things changed. It was like those film scenes where someone does something
fabulously wrong in a bar and the theme music stops with the sound of an old
stereo needle ripping across a vinyl record. How dare a man hit a woman?
Patriarchy. Male violence. Rape. And, perforce, Nazis, Nazis everywhere. Old
Alinsky had a farm, ee aye ee aye oh. And on that farm there were some Nazis.

Some
curios. The book that Nazis really
love is, of course, Mein Kampf, or My Struggle, written by chief Nazi Adolf
Hitler, who you literally are if you don’t believe there are 58 genders. It is
an erudite book, obsessive about Jewry – as you might expect – with a rather
beautiful opening paragraph. It is also a best-seller in many Muslim countries.

There
it is again. That sound of the needle tearing across vinyl. Yes, apparently a
lot of Muslims like nothing better than to kick back after Friday prayers and
read the story of a guy who wanted to kill Jews. They are not Nazis, though.
No, they are Muslims, friends to and allies of the Left. Funny, isn’t it? Every
now and then, some nutter daubs a swastika on a mosque. Even when it isn’t a
hoax, which it usually is, the local Muslims probably think it improves the décor.
Swastikas? Yeeees. I like what you’ve done with the place.

I’m
not going to bother with the figures, Hitler versus Stalin versus Mao versus Pol
Pot, as though it were a four-way individual motorcycle speedway heat. Nor will I bother overly with the fact that the Holocaust was not an invite-only, exclusively Jewish affair, but had room inside for the mentally handicapped, Poles, Romanians, gypsies, gays, Freemasons - yes, Freemasons. Hitler hated secret societies - and almost certainly a cadre of personal enemies. But the
emphasis on Nazism is interesting, what is stressed and what is elided. French President
Macron had a bit of a soulful walk around the scene of a Nazi atrocity in
France yesterday, a day after police had to be called to a school being used as
a polling station in England because the teachers there had encouraged their
young students to put up home-made posters indicating that voters should vote
Labour. They had decorated their sweet little crayon posters with the famous
hammer and sickle emblem of Communist Russia.

Nazis
are always bad. Don’t you ever fucking forget that. Of course, the allies were
never at war with the Nazis. They were at war with the Germans – still are, I
hope – who were led by the Nazis. It is a trifling point, but we are all paying
for the German guilt-machine now. Vielen
dank, Schengen.

What
will be amusing is when ‘Nazi’ runs out of gas, like ‘racist’ is in the process
of doing. I am sure you are all aware of Godwin’s Law. If not, here it is;

That
is the short form, but you get the idea. But here is the interesting
possibility. And there is always an interesting possibility.

Youth
always rebels. We’ll call it the Brando Law, after Johnny’s famous scene in The Wild One;

Father:
What are you rebelling against, Johnny?

Johnny:
Whaddya got?

What
will happen when youngsters – I adore using that term – decide that the new bad
is Nazism? I would laugh my arse off, for one, but apart from that?
Psychological experiments – as well as social reality – show time and time
again that if you tell children not to do something they will do it, sure as
shit. The best way to create the bogeymen – boogeyman for you Yanks – is to
tell kids he is bad. You want Nazis? Keep telling everyone they are a Nazi.

Friday, 9 June 2017

It
is a curious feeling to be politically conservative and to despise the British party
that bears that name. I started as a Leftist, as many of us do, before we
actually know about life, human nature and politics. As a student, I believed
in fairness and equality. I believed the rich exploited the poor. I hated
Christianity. I believed that young people should be running government, not
the old farts. I knew that people
were not to blame for their actions, but social conditions and their
environment bore the blame. The African students on my campus were so colourful. How could you not want more
of them around? Then, at least politically, I grew up.

Fairness
is something each individual either chooses to exercise towards others, or does
not. It is not a gift of government, and government cannot create it with other
people’s money. Equality is a myth, and a harmful one. People are not born equal.
Differences in gender – of which there are two – race, IQ and other factors are
real, and they have real effects in a world which is real. Gibbering about
equality cannot expunge reality like a board eraser. Christian values, once
divorced from the metaphysical side of belief, can be a balm to poorer members
of society. Young people could help us all by keeping their fucking mouths shut
until they have read some books. Real books, not Harry Potter and Chomsky.
Individuals are responsible for their actions, not someone or something else.

It
is not difficult to be conservative, but it is difficult to watch people
claiming that title act exactly like the socialists I so despise. May and her
cronies are nothing more than the political class, as described so perfectly in
Peter Oborne’s book – ten years young! – The
Triumph of the Political Class. They despise democracy. They have nothing
but contempt for ordinary white people. Brown people, of course, they adore,
and can’t cram their photo opportunities with enough of them, as if being surrounded
by non-whites were some great good in and of itself. They are a race entire.

So,
who are these faux fréres, these bad
brothers, these false friends, these sheep in wolves’ clothing? Well, basically
they are a type of socialist who has been given a makeover by the PR people,
the branding people, the smoke-and-mirrors guys and gals and in-betweens, the
people who deal with what Obama called the ‘optics’. They are Left-wing, but
they think that by telling you they are conservative, you will just buy it.

Theresa
May would not have been recognizable as a Tory in 1957, 1967, or even 1977.
These are some of the defining characteristics of British Conservatism:

·Low taxes. The
theory here is simple; allow people to keep a good deal of their income, and
they will spend it wisely. They will
spend it, and this will keep the economy warm, but they will not waste it on
vanity projects and bureaucracy. Have you noticed how a housewife of the old
school does not need a manager? Everyone else, apparently, does.

·Small
government. Was it AJP Taylor who said that, prior to WWI, the only government
worker you encountered was the postman? You can’t fucking move for them now.
More than half the workforce draws a paycheck subbed by the taxpayer. And if
you have worked in the public sector – I worked in four different positions for
the NHS – the waste would, probably literally, make you weep. Again, management
is the enemy.

·Low and
controlled immigration. Now, if you are one of those Lefties who send up the
cry ‘we are a nation of immigrants!’, you would be right. Many nations are,
including the USA, the most successful multi-ethnic nation on earth – for now.
But it is the mix, the elements of hybridisation – as any rose-grower or
dog-breeder knows – that determines the outcome. Somalis have an average IQ of
69, Germans of 100, and a Collie dog has been measured at 49. This is going to
become a phenomenal problem which no true conservative would let happen.

·Moral agency.
Put simply, and in bold contradistinction to the views of noted thinker Russell
Brand, addiction is not an illness. Violent crime is not a sickness cause by poverty.
People’s actions are not the programmed results of their social surroundings.
People have free will, within limits. I cannot decide to fly down to the shop,
I am not free to do that. But I can decide whether or not to punch someone,
stick a syringe full of heroin in my arm, or play deafening reggae music at
2am. This is a conservative viewpoint, that the individual choice.

·Fiscal
responsibility. I’m not sure where to start with this one. The UK’s foreign aid
budget, the public sector bill, interest on the national debt, all of these factors
make the UK effectively broke. And yet there is no need for a country which
once had an agricultural base – which Tories despise now but used to originate
from – a manufacturing base, and the greatest artistic culture the world has
ever seen to need to borrow. And yet borrow the UK does, and how. The debt is
86% of GDP. France’s is 87%, and its economy is on the at risk list. If the UK
were a business, it would be anathema to sensible investment.

So
now the election is over, and the UK joins Belgium and the Netherlands in not
having an actual government. The Left are, as is their wont, screaming and
crying and threatening riots. The ‘Right’ are – rightly in my view – wondering why
the DUP are now the targets for ire due to their alleged anti-gay, anti-women,
pro-terrorist stance. Islam is still okay, though.

I
was going to end by asking what happened to my country, but it hasn’t been mine
for years. I’m not talking about immigration. I don’t care what fucking colour
people are, as long as they respect the rules of decent society. We didn’t give
it away to immigrants, we gave it away to the political elites, self-styled
ultra-management, technocrats, careerist fanatics.

I’ve
never been British, and I stopped being English some time ago. Good trip, my
friends. Good trip.

It
is tedious picking through the rags and bones of the statements made by the
political class, particularly after a Muslim military attack on civilians, but
occasionally there is a ruby in the dust. Jeremy Corbyn, the unfancied
contender for the post of Grand Poobah of Great Britain today, apparently voted
to allow returning ISIS fighters entry into the UK. His reasoning struck me as
important. ‘It is not,’ he said, ‘a crime to have a political opinion’. That,
of course, depends very much on who you are.

If
you criticise Islam, it very much is a crime for you to have a political
opinion. Just ask Tommy Robinson or Tim Burton of Liberty GB. Perhaps Mr.
Corbyn meant that it is not a crime to have a political opinion if you are
brown, or believe that women should have their clitorises cut away from them so
they can never have sexual pleasure, or wish to lop the heads from Jews.

In
fact, not only is it a crime to have the wrong political opinion in the UK, it
is edging towards a criminal offence not to display the right one. It certainly
leads to professional disgrace in some cases. The country is heading towards North
Koreanisation, in which displays of Righthink will be just as mandatory as the
manic glee which accompanies Kim Jong-Un as he smells the flowers or inspects a
nuclear missile.

I
imagine the UK political class is as drop-jawed as Muslim revanchists. What the hell, they must all be thinking, do we have
to do to get a rise out these people? Stiff upper lip? These people’s entire
nervous systems have gone into advanced rictus. We blow up children and they
have a love-in the next fucking week with
talentless sluts saying love is the answer. We massacre people like halal cattle, as they sit drinking in
expensive bars in the centre of London, half a mile from the office of the
Muslim mayor, and they have a bit of a rally where they say they will stand
together. Well, we can see you’re standing together. Football fans stand
together. Tube passengers stand together. It doesn’t mean anything. Sadiq Khan
is now standing with fucking Orlando. The
man can stand in so many places he repeals the very laws of physics.

If
anyone still believes that this lattice-work of attacks and ritual slaughter is
not being orchestrated from the highest level, you need your bumps felt. The UK
government, I believe, is relying on some major street clashes this summer. It
provides welcome relief from the impending economic Ragnarok, it keeps the
citizens of Traumaville good and scared, and it allows the Leftist narrative
that all white people – particularly men, who will be doing much of the
fighting – are racist, to gather speed and momentum. But is this a dangerous
tiger to try to ride?

I
have spoken to several north Americans who assure me that there really is, in
the USA, a whole army of good ol’ boys, preppers, rednecks, cowboys, bikers, vets,
and general gun nuts who were saying ‘bring it’ when Barack Hussain Obama was
kang. We don’t really think of there being an equivalent in the UK, being
British, but I assure you they exist. I have drunk in some very low-rent
hostels, and there is an army out there, a drunken, amphetamine-crazed,
tattooed, shaven-headed, scarred militia who the street-fighters of London ISIS
would think twice about taking on. I have, at the time of writing, received an
email from a good friend in London, an observant and thoughtful journalist, stationed
far from Nutterville, saying that he and a friend did a tour of London pubs and
heard some very, very angry talk indeed. How long?

I
suspect vigilantism is already occurring, and is either being hit so hard by
the politicised wing of the police, or hidden so thoroughly by the
protectionist media – protectionist concerning Brand Islam, that is – that we
are not catching its scent. The state has already made clear that there are far
longer jail sentences available for those who insult Islam than for those who
rape and assault schoolchildren. Where does that tendency end? With
street-fighting, is my guess. There is, however, a key question concerning
which the elites must be crossing their fingers behind their backs. The police
and army. Who will they side with?

I
noticed recently a very clever ruse by the political class. It passed under the
MSM radar, as far as I can tell, but it is one of the dots that need joining.
The new plan is that every police officer will have to have a degree. That’s
right. Now, what does that mean? They are not going to be reading difficult
stuff like engineering or history or mathematics or philosophy or physics. They
will realise that you can pop along to your latest safe-space-infested
intellectual chicken-farm, hang about for three years, whack up an unpayable
debt, and get a degree in Black Studies or Queer Studies or Kill Whitey
studies, or anything else that’s really, really easy.

Now,
not only does that give the government debt-slaves – it’s fucking expensive to
get a degree now – but it fulfils another important function. Firstly, it makes
sure that any new police recruit will have a head full of multi-cultural pieties:
Islam good, always. Blacks good, especially if Islam. Women good unless Islam. Gays good unless Islam.
Right-wingers very, very bad. Fascists worst. Right-wingers always and in every
case fascists. There is no theoretical limit to the Rubik’s Cube of
indoctrination with which you can train your police force, not to arrest and
charge criminals, but to investigate and pester wrong-thinkers.

Of
course, they will have to put the degree system through the regulator of
race-norming. To get into Harvard, you can be black and score 450 SAT points
less than a white and still get in. Expect a bigger point spread with any UK
police force exam. But until this ideological gassing of new recruits becomes a
reality, there is still the vestigial remnants of the old crew, the coppers.

The
government had better hope they don’t turn coat when the inevitable happens,
and it’s pub vs. mosque.

Wednesday, 7 June 2017

We would remind all social media users to think
carefully about what they are saying before posting messages online. Although
you may believe your message is acceptable, other people may take offence, and you
could face a large fine or up to two years in prison if your message is deemed
to have broken the law.

Cheshire Police

Defending
free speech in modern Britain is like defending the Crystal Palace, or King
Arthur’s Round Table, or Narnia. We know what all those things are, but they
don’t exist. Free speech has not existed in the UK and much of Europe for some
time now, its decline concomitant with the rise of Islam.

What
is ‘offence’? We will turn briefly to the dictionary, although in these
post-modern, cultural Marxists days it is only a rough guide to meaning, and the
meanings of words are like a train timetable for the Left; subject to change.

Of
course, the dual meaning of ‘offence’ is of interest, particularly to the
Cheshire Police and other forces, or ‘services’ as many of them are now termed,
presumably to avoid giving offence. For them, offence is an offence. But the
word has an interesting etymology in light of the way the Liberal-Left now
utilise language.

It
is a feature of etymology that words denoting abstractions often go back to
classical verbs or nouns denoting physical things or actions. The Latin offensa, as well as meaning ‘affront’,
‘injury’, or ‘crime’, also means ‘the act of striking against’. It has been
noted recently that the Liberal-Left have a tendency to treat language as
action. If a threat is made online, for example, or even a statement of
disapproval of a protected victim class, the Leftist reacts as though a
physical act has taken place. Perhaps the Liberal-Left are simply first-class
philologists.

As
for the modern meaning, it is hopelessly tangled. An offence can be ‘that which
displeases’, bringing it close to Islamic libel law, under which something is
libelous simply if one party doesn’t like
what is said about them. ‘Resentment’ is one of the synonyms. ‘Displeasure
at a perceived slight’. (Italics
added). The whole slant of the contemporary definition of ‘offence’ is that its
measure is subjective. Which brings us back to Cheshire police, and their
warning that ‘other people may take offence’.

Years
ago, I remember reading that Michael Jackson had a team of lawyers whose brief
was to listen to the radio all day on the lookout for someone ripping off one
of Wacko Jacko’s ditties.

And
anyone who knows about New Order being sued by John Denver for the alleged similarity
between the Manchester band’s Run 2 and
Denver’s song Leaving on a Jet Plane – made
famous by Peter, Paul and Mary – will know how likely one song is to sound at
least a little like at least one other. I’m a musician and, even if you are one
of the polyphonic Pauls – Simon and McCartney – there are only so many places
you can go. So, these lawyers are listening to the radio, all day and all
night, to look for the merest possibility of litigation. There you have a
perfect analogy for the perpetually offended.

There
are people who quite literally patrol social media sites looking to be
offended. Universities are full of students who are not there to learn, but
simply to draw up an inventory of micro-aggressions, white privilege, racist
incidents – usually hoaxes – and be offended by them. Muslims have been
offended by Piglet mugs, nativity scenes, even the top of an ice-cream carton,
whose swirl looked a bit like the Arabic word for ‘Allah’. The whole notion of
‘offence’ has created a cottage industry whose staff can enjoy the twin
delights of being a victim and virtue-signalling
about it. And, of course, it has given Muslims the toolkit they need to silence
criticism once and for all.

They
had to learn offence, mind you. They received excellent tuition from black
people, who in turn learned it from the Jews. In fact, blacks are a bit miffed
currently – see Trevor Phillips’s gloomy denunciations of multiculturalism –
because the Mohammedans have muscled in on their grievance postcode. It would
all be funny if it weren’t so sick.

I’ve
tried to be offended. I don’t know how you would go about it. Let’s say that
I’m with my mum, and a stranger comes up and says he’s seen some ugly women,
but she puts the tin hat on all of them. I will be angry. If feasible, I’ll
knock him or her down. But offended? What does it feel like? Can anyone explain
the physical or mental symptoms to me? No. Because there are none. Offence is
anger in fancy dress.

I
can’t stomach Stephen Fry, apart from his performances as Jeeves and various
appearances in the Blackadder series.
Far more amusing is Julie Burchill’s observation that Fry is a stupid person’s
idea of what an intelligent person is like. But the quote at the top of this
piece encapsulates perfectly the world of the offended. As I have endeavoured
to point out here, offended people are not experiencing the ‘hurt ‘and ‘pain
‘and ‘hate’ they claim to be. They are using what has become a currency
universally accepted in the West’s rapidly evolving, cultural Marxist police
state. Offence is the legal tender of which anger and irritation are the
reserve currency

As
long as there are people such as Cheshire police, there will be offence. The
police love it. They can count it as a hate crime, which means they can count
it as a crime, which means they can solve it, which means they can inflate
their detection rates without having to fight bad guys with guns and knives.
More than that, they can please their new political-class masters by sticking
it to whitey. Because be in no doubt about this. ‘Offence’ and the apparatus
which supports its existence even though it is a fiction, is a part of the vast
machinery of white subjugation. If you are a Muslim, and you hold up a banner
demanding that people’s heads be cut off for insulting Islam, you are free and
clear. If you are a white man who notices that sign and flags it up on social
media, tread fucking carefully, my friend. You are the enemy now. For the
victim groups, the best defence is offence.